


A mes yeux l'univers n'est plus rien

by raspberryhunter



Series: Coeur de Flamme [2]
Category: Don Carlos | Don Carlo - Verdi/du Locle/Méry
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Friendship/Love, M/M, Uncomplicated Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-19 05:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15503589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberryhunter/pseuds/raspberryhunter
Summary: There is no good way, after all, to ask one's beloved if he is also the paramour of one's father.





	A mes yeux l'univers n'est plus rien

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iberiandoctor (jehane)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehane/gifts).



> A companion piece to [Ce Coeur de Flamme](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15347244), although it may be read independently.
> 
> (This is all zdenka's fault for bringing up the question... what if Carlo did guess? As well as many thanks being due for a last-minute beta!)

The soft knock on Carlos' door rouses him from sleep. He climbs out of bed, shrugs on a robe, and pads to the door, smiling a little; he knows it is almost certainly Rodrigo, and he knows why Rodrigo must be there. This is not the first time, or the second, that one of them has come to the other late at night, or even early in the morning as it is now, seeking the closeness and release they know the other can provide, though it is more often Carlos going to Rodrigo than the other way around. 

They had come together like this first, body to body, when they were not much more than boys, tumbling together with a still-new rush of feelings and emotions and sensations; and since then they have continued to do so at odd times and places: when Rodrigo's father died; before Rodrigo left for Flanders; when Carlos came back from France, without Elisabeth.

Carlos is therefore not at all surprised to see Rodrigo at his door, bending his head to look deeply into Carlos' eyes, his lips parted slightly. Carlos smiles again and turns his face up to be kissed, expecting the slow, teasing, building kisses that Rodrigo is expert at (and, if truth be told, that sometimes Carlos dreams about, even when Rodrigo is far away). But he is astonished when Rodrigo lunges forward, kicks the door shut with his foot, and almost violently pushes him against the wall, pressing their bodies together, his lips and tongue sucking against Carlos' lips, neck, jaw, in a kind of frenzy, as his fingers peel off Carlos' robe. "Rodrigo, what--" Carlos starts to say, but Rodrigo stops him with his mouth.

Carlos cannot help responding to it, to catch fire in his turn, to divest Rodrigo of his own clothing with hands that are suddenly shaking with desire. (And why is Rodrigo fully dressed so early in the morning? the back of his mind asks, but he ignores it.) They are not very far from the bed, but they never make it there, sinking to the ground in a tangle of lips and hands and bare skin until Carlos does not know any more where he ends and Rodrigo begins, which of them is gasping in passion and which is crying out with need, both of them driving the other on until they explode together.

Overwhelmed by sensation, by pleasure, Carlos does not think of anything at all for a minute or two. Rodrigo puts an arm around him, but this time gently, infinitely gently, holding him as if Carlos is the most precious thing in the world, and Carlos slides his hand over Rodrigo's bare shoulder.

Meanwhile, Carlos tries to collect his scattered thoughts. There is something here that he does not quite understand. What Rodrigo is doing -- it is almost like he is trying to convince Carlos, or perhaps Rodrigo himself, of something; that he is insisting, with his whole body, of how much he cares for Carlos. Or that he is trying to erase the memory of something else, something he does not want to think about, in losing himself in an intensity of touch. (Carlos did much the same thing when he came back from France. But he does not want to think about that now either.)

But what could have Rodrigo acting like this? Or -- who?

And Carlos thinks about how Rodrigo came to him, early in the morning, in what he now realizes was his garb from the night before, _the night before_ ; suddenly, the Princess Eboli's words that evening come back to him: she had said that Rodrigo was now the intimate friend of the King. He had thought, at the time, that this had meant only that the King had deigned to listen to Rodrigo. Even that had been hard to hear, given his own tempestuous relationship with his father, and for a moment he had despite himself turned briefly away from his friend. But now he wonders whether she was trying to say something more, whether his father --

His father! Almighty God! Surely not -- could he have -- would he have -- what were Rodrigo and his father _doing_? His mind shies away from the thought, but comes back to it like a tongue on a sore tooth. 

If his father -- and Rodrigo -- together -- ?

He draws breath to query Rodrigo, once, twice, and stops himself both times. There is no good way, after all, to ask one's beloved if he is also the paramour of one's father. Rodrigo has never lied to Carlos, and will not lie to him, if Carlos asks directly; but Carlos finds that he is not sure he wants to know.

And also: as he thinks about it more, he determines within himself that it will not matter. He resolves that it will not matter.

Carlos knows Rodrigo as well as his own self, better than his own self. He knows his friend's devotion. If there is anything he does not doubt, it is Rodrigo's love. Whatever Rodrigo has done, whatever his father has done, whatever is between Philip and Rodrigo, it does not change Rodrigo's love for Carlos. He knows that as surely as he knows anything. And thus it cannot change Carlos' love for Rodrigo.

Rodrigo stirs lazily, propping himself up with his elbow. Carlos turns his head to face him, looking at him, wondering. 

"What are you thinking about, my Carlos?" Rodrigo asks, his fingers brushing Carlos' cheek. There is a great affection in his face, and also, as Carlos looks at him more closely, just the barest hint of anxiety.

Carlos shakes his head, clearing it of his thoughts; there is only one thing that matters here, and that is Rodrigo. "How dear you are to me," Carlos says, smiling at him reassuringly and catching Rodrigo's hand in his own. _I am yours_ , Carlos thinks fiercely; _we belong to each other, you and I_. And Rodrigo smiles back at him, looking into his eyes with such tenderness that there is nothing Carlos can do except lean forward to kiss him again.


End file.
